1. I found out last week that my cancer is progressing faster than was previously thought. I thought I had some years, maybe a decade left. I have 2 years, maybe 5, now. I won’t see my kids graduate high school or college, find real love or find themselves, and I’ll never meet my grandkids. I’ve made peace with it – to some extent, but an accelerated timeline took me quite by surprise.
Love your families, Life is short and sometimes cruel.
2. I’m a rape baby.
My mum was raped by the son of an elderly patient she worked for as a nurse. He was 40, she was 25. She got pregnant with me as a result of it. She couldn’t bring herself to abort me and was also holding out hope I was her boyfriend’s – my “step” dad. She had been with my dad for 7 years at that point and didn’t have the heart to tell him until I was 3, when the rapist’s continual blackmail and threats for sex became all too much. He believed her and supported my mum 100%. However he admitted realising his first born son wasn’t even his was really tough for him to handle, but he couldn’t just discard a 3 year old boy that he loved.
The rapist wanted weekend visitation rights in court as a way to keep seeing my mum after she broke his sick sex games off. My parents went almost £20k in debt trying to keep me away from him. A DNA test was done that proved I was his, and there wasn’t enough evidence to charge him with rape (despite him being a known creep in our town). It all concluded when I was about 5, when my parents blocked him from gaining parental rights and I was then raised as if nothing happened. I don’t remember any of it.
My biological father found me about a month ago after I turned 19 and came into my work. He told me I was his son, showed me my (corrected, post DNA test) birth certificate with his name on and pictures of me as a child. He called my mum a horrible person who accused him of untrue things and begged me to visit him, before leaving. He never asked me about how my life was going or what sort of person I was – he just seemed fixated on trash talking my parents. The man is now 60 and still lives at home with his mum, who is almost 90.
I hate it. My Dad told me everything after I came home from work and I have never seen him more defeated and broken. He told me my mum was scarred by the events and used to cry every night for years and take scalding hot showers to try and “cleanse herself”. I hate the fact I am related to this man, I think about it all the time. I honestly wish I could go back to not knowing. Sometimes I wish I was just aborted, I hate how I look like him and am scared I will become like him in the future. No one else knows apart from my parents, not even my siblings or grand parents.
3. My dad was a bad person he used to hit my mom on regular basis and I was like a burden to him. He used to hit me really bad sometimes and twist my arm regularly. As a kid was a stutter and whenever I got stuck while speaking he would slap me. By the time I was 16 I got so used to having been slapped everytime I spoke that I would feel weird if I wasn’t hit by anyone. But then finally I got out of it and its been 4 yrs now. But here is where to real problem starts
Now I’m 25 and I engaged to a man. And I want him to treat the same way my father used to treat my mom.
He already is agressive and dominant and that’s the reason I’ve managed to be with him and I’m submissive so I’m a good match for him. Sex always hurts me and that’s what I want but even then I still crave fo
4. I wish my school didn’t get shot up
I think about it every day when I attend school as I stand feet away from the building where my classmates died. I go to Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, FL. I am finally a senior, which means I will be leaving soon. However, I am not even sure if leaving will make me feel much better.
I wish my school didn’t get shot up. I wish “Parkland” referred to a city instead of a shooting. I wish the lives of people I know weren’t ruined. The school turned into a fucking prison with insane new rules and security. I hate being near the building. The fucking lights still go on at night
and in the morning which really disturbs me. There’s a pathetic tarp with pleasant trees printed on it with the purpose of distracting us from the building. Sometimes, I see cops entering the fenced area around it. Why? I don’t know. They don’t tell us. My brain was fried by this event and I still don’t really have it all the way back. Nothing will ever return to normalcy.
5. I hate my special needs sister. I wish she didn’t exist. I want nothing to do with her.
Yes, I hate my special needs sister with a fucking passion, and I wish she didn’t exist. I don’t even love her “as family,” in fact I hate the notion that you have to love someone just because you’re blood-related.
My older sister is “special needs” in that she’s on the autism spectrum, but not exactly autistic. Doctors have never been able to give us a name for what she is, and just label her as having Autism Spectrum Disorder.
In the simplest terms, she has the mind of a 5 year old in a 25 year old body. I wish it was as simple as it sounds.
Half the time, my sister is “fine” by her standards. The other half, she’s a violent, terrifying, and life-destroying brat. If she gets angry, she gets angry. She’s almost 300 pounds and taller than most people we know, and when she’s angry she won’t hesitate to toss tables or chairs at you, throw and shatter glass, or punch you repeatedly in the face like she’s done to me. She screams and goes completely manic. When she goes to attack you, her eyes are just empty (and that might sound dramatic, but I’m not exaggerating). She’s had the police called on her countless times at home and at school. She’s attacked me, her caregiver, my grandfather. She’s put a classmate in the hospital. And we’ve had to deal with this for 25 years. I fear for my life and safety when I have to stay home and watch her.
If you’re gonna say “have you seen a behavioralist?” or “has she had therapy?” just don’t bother. We have. She has. We’ve done everything. Nothing fucking works. We don’t know where she got this behavior from. My mom and dad are not abusive and have sacrificed a lot to meet my sister’s needs. She didn’t learn this behavior from anyone, and she can’t fucking unlearn it. It’s just how she’s wired. And I hate her for it.
I know she can’t control it. I know that’s how she was born. But I’m fucking done with it. She’s made our lives a living hell and I wish we could just dump her off in a home and forget about her. We’re currently trying to put her in a home, but we’re still on a waiting list. In the meantime we’re all just at our wit’s end. She isn’t as bad as she’s been before, but when outbursts happen, they’re beyond scary and intense.
Living with her has made me into a depressed and anxious mess. A good portion of my senior year of high school (the worst she had ever been) was spent crying at night, crying at school, hiding in my choir teacher’s office to cry and skipping other classes to do so. Wanting to kill myself was a daily thought. I’m surprised I graduated with a good enough GPA to get into art school. Aforementioned choir teacher kept telling me to let my mother take care of things and focus on school and just “be young while I still can.” Yeah, easier fucking said than done.
More importantly is what my sister has done to my mother. My mom is the only person my sister has never physically attacked. But what she has done is robbed her of a social life. She’s made her contemplate suicide. She’s given her a heart attack from stress. She’s taken up almost every aspect of my mom’s life. The only free time my mom has is weekends since my dad takes her then (they’re divorced, on good terms). I try so often to go have just me-and-her days, but they’re so few and far between. My mom, in fact nobody, deserves this.
She terrorizes us, our dogs, her teachers and classmates. And I’m fucking done with it. If it weren’t for the fact that I basically get paid to watch her on days when her caregiver can’t make it, or that I want to keep as much stress off my mom’s shoulders as possible, I would’ve moved in with my dad a long time ago. But I’m struggling with money as an art student and as shallow as it sounds, I need it. Today is one of those days, and I would be fine with it if I didn’t learn literally this morning that I would have to stay home with her the whole day. I made plans last night to see a friend, but now I have to sit at home all day and hope I don’t get assaulted just for being in the same room as her.
Please note that this isn’t a statement against all people with autism or ASD, in fact I support and am vocal about autism awareness groups. And I love helping out friends or coworkers who have trouble dealing with their own autistic family members and seek advice in me. I don’t hate all autistic people, of course not. They deserve to be treated as equals. But in both the mild cases and the severe cases, like my sister’s, the world needs to understand that it’s one of the hardest things to live with. Sometimes the media sugar-coats it and I hate it.
Despite all that, I still wish my sister didn’t exist. I hate her for what she’s done to us. We want our lives back and as selfish as it sounds, we deserve it. I’m tired of crying on a weekly basis and I’m tired of fearing for my safety. I just want to live.
6. I was molested
Hi. This is really hard for me to write, but i feel i need to come to terms with it at some point. I was about 9 or 10… i’m 19 now. It’s time for me to talk about it. I’ve been repressing this for the longest fucking time. It’s affected my sex life and overall mentality in general. I knew i was molested, but i never. fucking. wanted. to. admit. it.
because it was by my brother.
I fucking hate even typing that out. I don’t hate him. I don’t want anything to happen to him, it happened when we were both young — but he was definitely old enough to know it was wrong. I hate it so fucking much. I am so mad that i have to live with this constant memory of my brother molesting me on multiple fucking occasions. THATS MY FUCKING BROTHER! my older fucking brother, the one that was suppose to protect me, hurt me the fucking most.
It fucking grosses me out and makes my skin crawl just thinking about it so i always repressed it and never wanted to admit to anyone. no one knows. i almost feel.. embarrassed.
i told my boyfriend that i just feel like something has happened to me in the past and i just have repressed it so i can’t remember exactly, and that’s why sometimes i have a hard time having sex. But… i remember. I remember exactly what happened. I remember everything that happened, and it haunts me, and i hate how i want to have sex with my boyfriend so bad and sometimes i can’t because when i feel his touch i think of my fucking brother. fuck.
I cant continue writing this, it’s too hard, i’m crying too much.. but thank you.. because this was a step. and i’m hoping maybe i can come to terms with it eventually and get some help, i just.. don’t think i’ll ever admit it was my brother.
i’m so fucking sick.